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4
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, i t s -.: f nT I.
Jfrs jf
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NEW SERIES VOL. 3 NO. 5
CITY OF LANCASTER:
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the Publie Square.
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Thursday Morning June?, 1853
TEN YEAHS AGO.
Again ray wandering footsteps stray,
When juattenyeara ago
I atood beneath the moon'a pale ray,
And In the pride of youfh'a bright day,
Gazod on thy faco,dear Chloe,
And In this hour each trvatured icono
Of that ten years ago,
Comes back, with not a shnde betwocn,
- To dim those eyes.so calm, serene,
So beautiful, doar CM""-
Tls said that often as a guest.
Since that ton yoarsngo,
' Thy bo n tie foot this sod linlli pressed,
Llko fairy morlng o'er its breast,
Dld'st thou forgot, dear Chloet
Forget, when wandoring side by sido,
. A long toil years ago,
We every woeof Ufo deflod,
And than ourselves knew naught bcsldo,
And care still loss, dour Chloo?
The pluco has barren grown, aud old,
Siuce that ten years ago;
Rut muy Its rueinr!es ne'er grow cold,
But eer bo warm, as when we strolled
Upon Its side, dear Chloe. , .
Mr. A mm, May 15th, 'S3. V1RG1L1AS.
A FAMILY DINNER.
MY FRIEND 8 STORY.
But really, Mrs. Robinson Is a very ex
collent lady. You certainly must have
ffiven her some cause of offiencc.'
My friend laughed. 'You aro right,'
lie said; 'I did unfortunately offend Mrs.
Kobinson; and she is as you say, a very
excellent lady, and I am as sincerely sor
ry for having otiended her as a m-in can
be; but I did offend her a good many years
ago,nd irrecoverably sank in her estuna
tion. Mrs. Robinson has never forgotten
the offenoe, and I verily believe, will nev
er forgive it. On my word, I am sorry
but it cannot be helped."
And the offence?'
'Was a very innocent one on my part, I
do assure you; though I can scarcely think
of it now without a blush at my superla
tive simplicity. It taught mo a lesson
though.'
What was'
Never to accept a gentleman's iuvita
tion to a family dinner.
Fiddlo de-doel'
'You may say 'Cddlo-decdec,' or fi-fo
funi, or whatever elso you please, but it is
true as faith itself.
. 'Well, but ttib how the whore and
the when.'
'X will tell you all about it, said my
friend, and forthwith hu told the' follow
ingtale:
. 'It was several years ago, as I told you
and I had been several days in London
place, by the way, that 1 hate like poison
-1 had business to transact with Robinson
and called at his office about noon
' 'I dine at two precisely,' said he, when
our business was concluded, 'and if you 11
.look in and take dinner with us, quite in a
family way'
Now, Robinson, you know, is an old
' friend of our family, and that, one might
have said, was a sufficient warrant tor his
Invitatiou. Moreover, I had been paying
him money, and that, perhaps, might have
been considered a second warrant. And
at the back of these, Mr. and Mrs. Robin
son had spent a week only the summer
before at my father's house in the country
, whers they bad been entertained with the
acustoraed hospitality. So taking all'
things into ; consideration, I was weak e
pough to clinch the invitation with an ac
ceptance before I knew what I was about.
. " 'I was rather vexed, directly afterwards,
that I had not refused, for the truth is, I
,was hungry at the time, and had planned
to step at once from Robinson's office to
certain dining rooms in the city.
" 'Now, if there is one redeeming feature
in London, it consists in its facilities for
eating and drinking. The very beau-idenl
-of a dining room. I don't care what you
may think of my taste, but for good meat
and well cooked, comfort and freedom from
all ridioulous ceremony, a London dining
bouse against the world.
It happened that day that I had plan
ned my dinner to a fraotion where to dine,
. what box toaocupy, what joint to fix upon,
what vegetables, what pudding, what
cheese. I had deferred '; reading the morn
ing paper, that I might look at it there at
my leisure. ' I baa foreordained my after'
noon engagements also. And all this I
' was weak enough, as I said before, to set
aside, to oblige friend Robinson by taking a
fmily dinner with him,'
q e yprrv, rTH
Well, as I left bis office, the church
clock opposite struck one and I Lad an
hour upon my hands. 1 hail a call to make r
two or three miles away, bar to go there ,
and return punctually by Robinson's at i,
ItSTa ra'itlrtnlf nnxnon tr woo Ml t rf tla miAo.
w v v w vawwu ivviovi v s v a jiu j v v -J
tion so I had no resource but to saunter a
bout during the tedious hour that inter-
cued.
I passed mv dining-rooms with a sigh
f resignation, stared in at the shop win
dows, walked down to Cheapside, entered
St. Paul's Church-yard, looked up at the
-l-i j t i .1 . . e i
,,,.,',, , ,p , .,
. . " ' v "'T ' ",,,1U:
way the succecdin
vrnv tiio nuucccuiuif iiuii iiuur. j. insstu i
1 half hour, I passed
through the crates,
sprung up the steps,
and entered the north dour of the cathedral.
depositing the demanded twopence in the
outstretched hand of the janitor, and tsaun-
monumdnts liming my
proceedings so well that on retracing my
steps and reaching the duor of Robinson's
private resideuce, the clock was on the
point of striking two.
fco tar well, I thought; 'I shall not be
accused of keeping the family dinner wait-
ng, at all events: though 1 dare say my
friend Robinson has cot home by this
lime. He said two, precisely, I remem
ber.' and I boldly rang the bull.
air. Kobinson is in, 1 supposo" I ask
ed of the servant who answered to the sum
mons.
avj, on, no to UUb ait liOllJO,
m I . mi l r j i . , i
'Oh, he soon will be, I dare say; he said
No, sir, he is not at home,'
he would be home by two. Ij Mrs. Rob-
nson within:
'Yes, sir. What name, sir?'
'And after these formalities were duly
gone through, I was ushered into a small
parlor, and informed that Mrs. Robinson
would 'be dQwn directly.
'Well, I sat and sat, and could not avoid
hearing a hurrying and skurrying nlong
the passages up stairs, and lor any
thing I know in my lady's chamber. At
length, after a quarter of an hour's delay,
during which time I had been nervously
uugoung aoouiauu longing every moment
to hear friend Robinson's ring of the bell
snd foot in the passage, the door slyly o
poncdand in walked Mrs. Robinson. She
had evidently, or rather, as I rightly e-
nough guessed, been caught dishabille,
and been occupied ever since my arrival
in setting herself to rights, or whatever
ele the ladies may call it. Of course this
did not tend to make me welcome, though
to do the lady justice, she was too well
bred to show any particular signs of dis
pleasure. 'Un the contrary, indeed, she received
mo with tolerable cordiality was glad to
see me, and so lorth uiquiied how long 1
had been in London, how. friends in the
country were, how long a stay I intended
making, and all that sort of thing.
This is all very well,' said I mentally,
'but it says nothing about dinner, and I am
half famished. What can Robinson mean
by not Jioeping his appointment?'
'Five minutes, perhaps and perhaps
ten passed in this sort of talk, and the
lady, I could perceive, bpgan to grow
mighty fidgetty. 'Ten to one,' though I,
'Mrs. Robinson was just on the point of
serving up the family dinner as I came in,
and she is afraid of the roast being over'
done or of other catastrophe of like nalure.
How shall I manage it to set her feet and
hands at liberty and her heart at rest?'
'I hope I am not detaining you mad
am?' I stammered at last, for want of
something belter to say. 'If you will al
low me, I will take up a book and amuse
myself till'
'My lady could scarcely suppress a start
ot astonishment, winch plainly said, 'what
on earth does the man mean?' She did
not say this verbally, however, but sup
plied its place with 'did you wish to see
Mr. Kobinson particularly! .
'Why, my dear madam,' I replied, with
a faint attempt at a smile, 'I certainly did
expect to see Mr. Robinson; he told me
that two o'clock precisely was his dinner
hour.'. .
'This time there was no disguising her
real feelings. Mrs. R'a brow darkened
like midnight. It was plain enough now-
what I. had surmised before that Mr.
Robinson had not thought it necessary to
give his Jady due notice of his expected
guest. 1'erhaps he had forgotten the in
vitation he himself had given two hours
before. Most likely so, I thought, for the
hands of a dial on the mantel were point
irig to half-past two, and no Mr. Robinson.
'I am afraid, my dear madam,' said I
that there has been some slight mistake.'
Mr. Uobinson certainly asked me to aino
wiih him at two o'clock; but perhaps not
convenient. And as he has probably been
detained, and I rose and put on my hat.
I .had better left this unsaid; it put the co
ping stone on the forfeiture of Mrs. Robin'
son's good gracej. Nobody likes to have
the countenance read faithfully at all
times.
Pray don't think of such a think as
leaving,' Mrs. Robinson exclaimed, with a
grim smile. 'Most happy to see you at
our table. I dare say Mr. Robinson will
be in soonj most likely, as you say, he has
been detained iu his office he often ,is.
Perhaps you will be so kind as to excuse
me for a few minutes. Mr. Robinson will
not be long.I am sure.' And without wait
ing for a reply, the lady disappeared more
hastily than she had entered the parlor.
Thinks 1 to myself, 'here's a pretty
muss! - If Ioouldout make an exit unseen,
. I would.' And I blushed to my fingers'
ends, till they fairly tingled. 'Hang all
family dinners and the men who invite
friends to then.!' I unconsciously ejacnlat-
il!f COSLSJ tEi'CE,4
LANCASTER, OHIO,
,i i,,alip,U;Wir in'a mood of des-
te re8j?natjon.
.Friend Robinson's house was not a very
and St wa8 not i before 1
i j:j(:,i ,..,k ti.n mu-nimrand
shutting of doors, not over and above gent
ly. The street door was opened, too, and
shut, but no Mr. Robinson. S-on after
wards, from tho regions below, I fancied I
heard the sounds of fizzing and frying, or
something akin to it. Then in the dining-
. . . .
room, adjoining the parlor in which I sat
, ' T 7 V 7
not on a touch of roses by uny
s 1
heard the creaking of an uplifted table-flap,
the ratllinff of plates, the clattering of
knives, forks and spoons and tho jingling
r , , .,
01 glasses.
'Come,' thought I, 'it will be all rightat
last. But that Robinson where can tho
man be got to?'
'Thanks be praised! tho. door-bell rang
at last a loud, sharp ring, which none but
the master of a house is privileged to give
and enter Mr. Robinson.
'Ha, you are here before me, I see,' said
he, trying, asitslruch me, to look uncon
cerned; 'i have been hindered, but better
late than never,' and ho applied his hand
to the bell.
'Tell your misstress I am come in, Sa
rah,' said he, when the girl entered, fiery
red in the lace, 'limner is ready, 1 sup
pose.'
'Mistress says I am to tell that it will bo
J , I- 1 1 .1
ready in quarter ot an hour, sir, said the
i i
damsel
'Bless me! Does your mistress know what
time it is?' exclaimed Robinson, looking at
his watch, which, as Well as the dial.point
ed to a quarter to three.
'Mistress wants to see you, sir, for a
minute, if you pleaste' continued the girl
evading the master s question, as alto
gcther beside the mnik.
'Mr. Robinson was obedient to tbesam-
moits, nnd disappeared.
'It is no use if people will talk loud, it
is absurd tor them to expect Unit other
people will put their fingers to their ears.
1 told you just now that friend Robinson's
house was not a large one. And it was a
very sonorous one. Aow, these two cir
cumstances will exonerate hie from the
charge of listening which I did not. The
fact is, 1 could not help hearing.
'rust, a gentle murmuring, in a female
voice, tiom some place below stairs
sounding very much like h remonstrance,
but the import of which I could not, nnd
lid not particularly wish to make out; tlio
might possibly guess at it.
'To ibis succeeded an impatient 'pshaw,
nonsense!' in the gruff, though subdued
tones of friend Robinson 'an old friend,
too; how was I to help it?'
then again came the murmuring, in
somewhat louder and more emphatic ac
cents in which I could distinguish the
words 'nothing but that cold shoulder
very thoughtlessly and provoking!'
'Presently Mr. Kobinson returned, pro
tending to look mighty unconcerned, but
plainly enough rffled and ill at ease 'the
sinner; nnd, desperate as I had become,
could but bo amused with his blank and
woful countenance. Happily the longest
lane has a turning; and, just as tho hand
of the dial pointed to a quarter past three
the lady once moro made her appearance
with the welcome intelligence that dinner
was on the table.
'Now, then, lor Mr. Robinson's family
dinner, thought I, 'ahem!
'But really, after all, it was a good ex
tempore sort of a dinner; and if Mrs. Rob
inson had only taken it easy, and spiced it
with good temper, it : would have been an
enjoyable one. It was evidently a hurried
make-up a dish of slices of cold shoulde
ot mutlon the cold shoulder , adish o
veal cutlets, which, no doubt wero hang
ing in the butcher's shop an hour previous
ly-but how nicely cooked, a dish o
smatched potatoes, beautifully browned;
fruit tart, . probably from tho nearest pas
try-cook s shop but no harm in that,
should hope; a new crusty loaf, and a good
Cheshire cheese, a bottle of ale, from the
tavern round the corner, porbaps, and a
bottle of Wine from Mr. Kobinson s cellar.
'But what availed it that I put on a cheer
ful countenance and determinatelv set
about the business of the table with a good
appetite; asking no questions for con
science's sake, and exerting my powers of
conversation to charm away the frigid po
liteness of Mrs Robinson, and the dark,
gloomy, foggy silence of her lord and mas
ter? 'It was plain, even then, that I had of
fended the lady beyond hope of remedy.
I never knew the mystery of that family
dinner exactly; but I had reason to suspect
that, on my arrival, the lady had already
dined at any rate, she took good care to
eat no part of the family dinner( but sat
like a dummy the while it was being de
voured by ber husband and his friend.
Probably she was in the middle of a house
cleaning, or an ironing, or an exchange of
servants; or she had fixed on that day for
a shopping excursion, and did hot like to be
put Off from it. She might have expected
her husband to dine at an eating-house, as
I should have been too happy to have din
ed. Inshort, it was evident enough that
my intrusion was eminently inconvenient,
and that I was looked upon as an incum
brance, and as a spy upon the 'nakedness
of the land.' ' . " ' ' '
'So, after losing all powers of pleasing
ineffectually, I succumbed to the force of
circumstances, subsided into sullen silence,
and so the dinner concluded; and the lady,
wf th much ceremonious politeness, which
might have been spared, withdrew." ,
.SXStS3lXiJ2C3Ai.'i3rS3 CS3T n?TTT r "f -rfrJ& GEORGE WASHINGTON'.
THURSDAY MORNING,
The atmosphere cleared a little after
that. The wine and biscuits were tolera
ble, and the lines on Mr. Robinson's visage
relaxed and softened.' ' Nevertheless, he
was by no means perfectly at ease. He
had committed an net of gross impropriety,
and he had not heard the last of it yot.
However, he faintly hoped (ho id so
the hypocrite!) that I would take coffee
with Mrs. Kobinson before 1 left, and look
ed amazingly relieved when I pleaded bu
siness as a reason for abrubtly quitting his
table.
'It was nearly five o'clock, and I had lost
the best part of the day, when I turned a-
way from his door.
'I did not see Mrs. Robinson before I
left; once or twice since then I have met
her, but she looks darkly on me, and un
derstand she speaks of me in mysteriously
reserved terms. 1 see Kobinson every
time I go to London, which is twice a year;
but he has never asked me again to a family
dinner. He may do it safely, but perhaps
ho is not aware of this.
Well, but,' said , ' don't see'
'Don't you?' interposed my friend, rais
ing his eye brows; 'then 711 enlighted you.
i ou are a young fellow, and 1 shall be an
old one soon, if IXwn long enough; and
take this bit of advice never mind the
philosophy of it, but take it: Never accept
a gentleman's invitation to a family dinner
it you can helpit; and secondly, being a
married man yourself, never invite your
friend to a family dinner without your
wile's knowledge nnd consent. And there
is a good morality for home for you. Take
it, and make what you like of it.'
KIRWAN'S LETTERS.
TO THE RIGHT KEV. JOI1.N UUGHEK, BISHOP
OF KEW YOKX.
LETTER IX.
Mr Dear Slit, I will proceed witli the
statement of the reasons which prevent
me from rctnrning to the pale of your
church. I have reached my fifth reason;
your teaching for doctrines of divine author
ity the commandments ot men. 1 entered
upon the illustration of the way in which
you do this in my last, anTI without ending
my illustrations ended my letter, i'ermit
mo to 6tate a few more, for your candid
consideration.
The doctrine of Purgatory is one of the
peculiar doctrines pf your church. You
teach that nearly all Christians when they
die are "neither so perfectly pure and cleau
as to exempt them front the least spot or
stain; nor yet so unhappy as to die under
tho guilt of unrepented deadly sin." It is
for these middling Christians that you
make a purgatory, where they remain un
til they make full satisfaction for sin; and
then they go to heaven. And the "Pro
fession of Faith" of Pius IV. tells ns
"that the souls therein detained are helped
by tho suffrages of the faithful; that is by
the prayers and tho alms offered for them,
and principally by the holy sacrifice of the
Mass." And the doctrine of yonr church
is so expouuded upon this matter that but
few, if any, die, however good, without
needing purgatorial purification; and that
but few are so bad but that they may be
there fitted for heaven. Thiyou will ad
mit is a fair statemeut. The more you
get into purgatory, the more you will re
ceive of the "suffrages of the faithful,"
that is, of their money.
I have already told you my estimate of
this doctrine. It is that by which your
church traffics in the souls of men; nnd an
amazingly profitable traffic it makes of it.
It has placed in your possession riches far
exceeding in value the mines of Pc?u
And because of the vulue of this doctrine
you seek in all possible ways to sustain it.
With mo the authority of your popes and
councils is not worth a penny. I would
rather have one text of Scripture bearing
upon tho point than the teachings of as
many such as you could string between
hero and Jupiter. Let us then look at tho
chief texts adduced to sustain a purgatory.
One of those texts is Malt. 1: 32:
Whosoever ppeaketh against the Holy
Ghost it shall not be forgiyen him, neither
in this world, neither in the world to
come." Matt. 5: ,26 is another: "Verily
I say unto thee, thoU shalt by no means
come out thence IM tnou nasi paiu ino ui.
termost farthing. llotii tnese, you say
refer to purgatory, from the one you
conclude that sins may be forgiven in tho
next woiid from the other, that none can
get out of purgatory till the last farthing is
paid. Now, dear sir, let me ask you, how
vou put these texts together? If sins are
forgiven, how or why is payment also re
quired to the last farthing? Can I forgive
a debt and vet reouire its payment? Look
at the first text again; you find purgatory
in it, But how? ' In this way because
there is a sin which will not be forgiven in
this world nor in the world to come, there
fore there is a sin that will be torgiven in
the world to come i i -oucn is me logiuoi
fallible Rome! Because acertain sin is not
tn ha foro-iven here or hereafter, tlitrefore
manv sins will be forgiven hereafter!
And because "this worhi" and "the world
to come" is inclusive of all time and place,
Popery builds up a pltce which belongs
neither to this world nor the world to come,
and fills it with, fire, and calls it Purgato
rv! Like Mahomet's coffin, it floats some
where between heaven and hell.' ' Into this
world of Ere'ou'dnve'the "souls of men as
they leave the bod?,' and let them out only
on the reception of "the suffrages of the
faithful" that is, their money! Now.sir,
what do you say to all this? '
But, you ask, are there not other texts
JUNE 7, 1855
ifiTifi
quoted by ourwriters to sustain Purgato- ,
ry as a Scriptural institution? 0 yes, but
they are as far from the point as the most
vmu luiaiuniiou can well couucite. aucj I
are ujr bun uiumutui ui iuv nenveua uiriucr
from the point, than those just quoted.
Let any intelligent man read chapter xiv.
, . I L. . . . . ..... . 1 . 1 . 1 I ..
of Cballoner "Catholic Christian, and
he will rise from it with amazement that
God could ever leave men to the fully of so
perverting Scripture; or that even the dev
il could permit them so absurdly to misap
ply it. Permit me to quote an instance by
way of illustration. We are taught in
Matt. 12: 36, that we must give an ac
count for every idle .word in the day of
judgment. Now how does this text prove
a Purgatory? In this wise: "Noonecan
think that God will condera a.soul to hell
for every idle word; therefore there must
be a purgatory to punish those guilty of
these little transgressions." If you or any
mortal man, think I am joking, let him turn
to the chapter. Let me quote the answer
in full to the question, Are not souls in
Purgatory capable of relief in that state?
"Yes, they are, but not for any thing that
they can do for themselves, but from the
prayers, alms, and other tvffrage offered to
(Jud for them by the faithful upon earth,
which God in his mercy is pleased to arcrjA
of, by reason of that communion which
we have with them, by being fellow mem
bers of the samo body of the Church, un
der the same head, which is Jesus Chiist."
Now, sir, if in this answer you substitute
the word "priest" for "God," then we
come to the facti in the case. The "alms"
and the other "suffrages of the faithful,"
are pocketed by the priest. And purga
tory was invented for the special purpose
of securing these alms, and other suffiages
of the faithful, to rope, prelates, and
priests. j
iow, sir. Jet me ask you a lew ques
tions. Perhaps 1 have asked you too
many already; but you will bear with a
fellow-countryman, anxious, not so much
to embarrass you, as to bring out the truth.
What has the the blood ot Christ, which
cleanses from ull sin, to do with the Venial
sins of those middling Christians who die,
not good enough to go to heaven, nor bad
enough to go to hell? What has the blood
of Christ, his attonement, his finished
work, at all to do, on your plan, wiih the
saving of the sinner? If my child should
die and go to purgatory, would a thousand
dollars given you at once, have the same
effect as a hundred dollars a year for ten
years? How can you tell when enough is
'iven to get the soul out; or has your purse
no bottom? As souls are spirits without
bodies, how can you tell one soul from an
other as they issue from tho gates of pur
gatory? In the prayer "Hail Mary," we
are made to utter at its conclusion, the
following petition: Holy Mary, Mother
of God, pray for us siuners, now and at
t,e hour of our death;" why not solicit her
to pray for us after our death, to get us out
of purgatory? Is it because you are afraid
the good woman would get us out ueiore
the priests had gotten enough of ihe "alms
and suffrages of the faithful?"
My dear sir, the absurdities connected
with your doctrine of purgatory are sick
ening. It is based on me love 01 money.
The bishop of Air candidly confesses that
it is not revealed in tho Scriptures. It
came into the church in the seventh cen
tury, it was affirmed in the twelfth; it
was stereotyped at Trent; and fearful a-
nathemas are hurled at all who deny it.
It puts away the work of Jesus Christ, and
sends tho sinner, not to "tho blood of
sprinkling," but to the fire of purgatory
in order to secure a mcetness ior neaven
And why this parody this caricature of
the religion of God? ' Simply to put "the
alms aud the suflrages of the faithful'' in
the pockets of your priests! What an
outrage upon the common sense of the
world to have men, dressed up in cationi
cals, teaching things as true, of which the
beast that Balaam rode might well be
ashamed I
I entreat yotl, my dear sir, to review
this doctrine to your church. You, surely,
must see its absurdity. Neither iu the
word of God, nor in the common reason of
man, is there the shadow of an argument
to sustain it. Nor is there a class of men
upon the face of the earth who deserves a
purgatory from which "the alms aud oth
or suffrages of the faithful" would never
release iheni, as do those who preach up a
purgatory and its fearful torments, for the
sake of filthy lucre. But, as Father 0'
Lcary said lo Canning, "I am afraid many
of them will go farther and fare worse.',
My high respect for you tenders ' me so
licitous that you should not bo of the
number, wish you not to be one of the
dumb herd who hold the truth in unright
eousness, and believe a lie that they may
be damned. ' '
Transubstantialion is another of the pe
culiar doctrines of your church. By this
you teach, that, in the Lord's Supper, the
bread and the wine are Converted into the
real body and blood of Christ, by the con
secratioti of the priest.- The thing is so
absurd as to confute itself; and as there
fore, to require from mc but a brief state
ment. Cballoner, Chap. V., thus slates
the doctrine: "Tho bread and wine are
changed by the consecration iuto the body
and blood of Christ." "Is it then the be-
liof of the : Church that Jesus Christ
himself, true God and true . man, is
truly, really,, and substantially present
in the blessed sacrament? It is, for where
the body nnd blood of Christ are, there
his soul also aud his divinity needs . be.
And consequently there must bo whole
Christ. God and man: there is no taking
!,;, to rjieces." And all this is nroven
demonstration by the quoting of the words
0f Christ at the institution of the Supper,
1 111 S JDY bOuV TlllS
my
..... -
blood."
Now, sir, if you and your church Lad
only the common fcne to look for the true
meaning of the two little words "is" nnd
"this" in the above sentences of the Sav
iour, it would Lave tared you a world of
trouble. Look atone or two similar pas
sages: "The seven good Line are seven
years and the seven good ear are seven
years. Gen. 41: 26. "1 be seven stars
are the angels of the seven churches."
Rev. 1: 23. "The seven heads are the
seven mountains." Rev. 1": 9. The
sense is plain Lore. They signify those
things. So the word "is" may mean to
signify. Now for the word "this." It
obviou.ly refers to the bread. I will have
none of Your nonsense about "the sub
stance contained under the fcf3fc.ies." It is
darkening counsel by words without
knowledge. So that the simple, natural,
reasonable, scriptural sense is: "This bread
signifies or represents my body." "This
wine signifies or represents my blood."
Just see how a little common sense simpli
fies every thing!
Now.turuing back to your interpretation,
permit me in view of it to ask you a few
questions: Did the apostles at the first in
stitution of the Supper, eat the real body
and blood of Christ? So your church
must and does teach! What power have
you, more than I have, to . work such a
miracle as to change a little wafer into the
real body and blood of Christ? If you
stickle so much for the letter in vour inter
pretation of "This is my body," "This is my
blood," why withhold the wine from all
but the rriests? Why give up the bread
for a wafer? If some wag should mix arse
nic with the wafer before consecration,
would you be willing to take it arter you
had changed it into the real body and blood
of Christ? You place great dependence
ou John C: 50. You take it literally.
ill you take the whole connection
literally? Then he that eateth this bread
shall live for ever. Ho that eats this bread
iffW never hunger. All that vou have to
do, if your principle is true, is to give your
wafer to the poor, famishing'Irish.and they
hunger no more!
But the thing is too outrageously ab
surd to dwell upon! Nothing equals it in
absurdity in all paganism. It a man
should mumble a few words over a stone,
and tell you it was converted by these
wcrds into bread, what would you say to
him? If, against all the evidences of your
senses, he should seriously assert that it
was bread; and if, in addition, be should
seriously assert that unless you believed
that stone to be bread you must be damned,
would you not be for putting him in a strait
jacket?
But I must bring this letter to a close.
These are but a few of the illustrations of
the way and manner in which you teacl
for doctrines the commandments of men.
And withhut at all exhausting the subject,
I must here close my statement of the reas
ons which forbid mc to return to the pale
of your church. When I give up my Bible
for the commandments of men, they must
have learning, or genius, or wit, or some
thing to recommend them. They must be,
at least, good nonsense, which, you know,
to an Iiishman is quite interesting.
With great respect, yours,
; KIRWAN.
CoinTl.VQ IN THE RIGHT StTLK. "Git
cout, you nasty puppy let me alone or
I'll tell your ma," cried out Sally to her
lover Jake, who sat about ten feet from her,
pulling diit from the chimney jam.
"Iarn't teching on you, Sal," respon
ded Mr. Jake.
"Well; perhaps you don't mean to, nuth
er, do ver?"
"No" 1 don't."
"Cause you are too taranl scary .you
long-legged, lantern -jsWed, slab sided,
pigeon-toed, gangio-knee d owl, you-vou
haint got a tarnal bit o'sense; git along
tome wid ve."
'Now, Sal, I love you, and you cau't
help it, and ef you dont let me stay and
court you my daldy will sue your'n for
that cow what lie sold him t other day. liy
jingo, lie said lie a ao it.
"Well look hereJake--it you want tor to
court you'd better do it as a white man
does that thing not sit off thar as if you
thort 1 was pizen."
Heou on airth is that, Sal?"
"Why, sidle right up here, and hug and
kiss me, as if you had some Of the. bone
and sinn :r of a man in you. Doyou s'pose
that a woman s oflly made to look at, yon
fool you? No; they're made for practial
results, as Kossuth savs to' hug and kiss
and such like kinder things.
"Well, said ' Jake, drawing a long
breath, "if I must, I must for I do love
you, Sal,'' and Jake now commenced si
-dling up lo her. like a maple poker going
to battle. Laying his arm gently upon
Sail's shoulder, we thought we heard Sail
say: . . -
"That's the way to doitold boss that is
acting like a white man orter!"
. "6b, Jerusalem and pancakes'" exclaim
ed Jake, "if this airnt better thanany apple
berry sass ever marro made, a darn'd sight.
fVm'Lv! buckwhaat cakes. slaD iacks. with
elephant soup and 'lasses, airnt nowhar
'longside of you Sal! How I love youl"
- Here their lips came together, and the
report, that followed was like pulling a
horse .hoofs out of the mire 1
A Sh.uip TbiA. Sooner than arry a
woman of fifty I'i take two at twenty five.
ESTABLISHED IN 1826
4 THE aOIXiS I'OUTH W Cl -
ar ms lara 0fW4 cttat.
Gas wii.atTi os tm cata. The purling rllls
And mightier strsams before him glance away,
Rejoicing in bis preaeuce. Ob the prslaf, ' ' '
And spangled aWMs, and la the atiuy Talcs, ' T
The Ui la throngs of earth before Him fall-
Wlththaoklul hyms, receiving iVmo his head ' '
Immortal life and gladness. Clothed aaea , ,
With burning crowns the tvrantal heralds s(andi
Preelarmlag to (fie blossoming alldeniess
The brightness of bis coming, and the power
Of Him who ever liveth, all la all 1
God walictb o tb oca Brilliantly '
ThwgTasey waters mirror back His smllesv
The surging billows and the gambling storms' '
Come crouching to His feel. The hoary deep, . .
And the green gorgeous Islands, Oder ap
The tribute of their treasure pearls, and shells
Andcro-wn-flte drapery at the dastlag foam,
And solemnly the tresselated halls.
And coral domes of mansions In the depths
And gardens of the golden sanded sea,
Blend with the anthems of the chiming waves.
Their alleluias unto Him who rule
The invisible arnrtee of esenslty r
God Joct jiyitu la thi snv. From san tostiDr"
From star to star the living lightnings lash;
And pealingthundera through all space proclaim
The goings forth of Him whose potent arm
Perpetuates existence, ordestroja.
From depths anknown, unsearchable, profound,
Forth rush the wandering comets! frt wills lame
They blend, in order true, with marshalling hosU -
Of starry worshippers The unhallowed orbs i
Of earth- born ft re that cleave the haty air.
Blanched by the Hood of uncreated irfMf
Fly with the Heeling lnda and misty clouds
Back lo their homes, and deepla darkness Ue. '
God jocaanrra in rat surisr. ITefulgenf star
And glitering crowns of prostrate Seraphim,
Embos his burn Ingfpatb. Around blm falf -Dread
powers, dominions, hosts aud kingly thrones;
Angelsof God adoring millious Join
With spirits pure, redeemed from dlslaut worlds,
In choral songs of praise. Tnee we adore.
For thou art mighty. Everlasting a ptereS ' 1
Of light and glory In thy presence wait.
Time, space, life, light, dominion, majesty.
Truth, wisdom, all are thine, Jehovah ! Thotf
FiasT, tirr, scraaxs, CTiexn Potitti '."
8eTHtpols
Hurrah for the Bear the Bear Hjperoorean, . -Wbokeepeth
the Cork and the Lion at bay.
His glory the theme or each future historian,
Be the end of the selge and the War what It may(
Punch thus cautions the King of Prus
sia: ';
Oh! Fredrick William mind your P'sand k't
Or Prussia, through her King the P will losel '
Prodigals are born of misers, as butter
flies are born of grubs,
If a good act benefits bo one else.it ben'
efits the doer.
Almost all knowledge is interesting, if
presented in an interesting manner.
Many a great mad resembles Herod
in the theatre, shining and groaning at
once.
Every day well spent lessons the task that
God has set us.
Difficulties dissolve before a cheerful
spirit, like snow-drifts before the stlu.
God punishes in this life to do good.
Will he punish in the ' next life to do
harm?
Serve every one as much as you can,
and compete with no oue more than you
must.
He that is good, will infallibly become
better; and he that is bad, will as cer
tainly become worse ; for vice vlrtuo
and lime, are three things that never stand
still.
' . ii
The true secret of instruction lies in pro-
yoking to thought in stimulating to in-'
vestigation, and not in preparing a mind
for usefulness, as a goose is prepared for tho
table by stuffing ,
The hnppinoss of roan arrises more front
his inward than his outward condition ;and
the amount of good in the world cannot be
much increased but by increasing the a
mount of goodness. . .
Things temporal are sweeter in the ex
pectation; things eternal, in the fruition;
the first shares thy hope; the second crowns
it. It is a vain journey, whose end affords
less pleasure than the way. Quarks,
Piety is hot sri cr.il, but a theahs.tlirongh
the purest repose of the spirit, to attain
the highest culture. Wherefore it may
be remarked, that those who pursue piety
as an end and aim, are mostly hypocrites,
The death of an old man's wife, says
Lamartine, is like cutting down an ancient
oak that has long shaded the family man
sion. Henceforth the glare of the World,
With its care and vicissitudes, fulls upon
the old widower's heart, and there is noth
ing to break their force, rr shield him
from the full weight of misfortune. . It id
as if his right hand was wilheied, a if one
wing of an old eagle was brokcn.aod every
movement thai he made brought him to
the ground. His eyes are dim and glassy,
and when the film of death falls over biro,
be raise es those acoustfrned . tohes which
might have smoothed his passage to the
grave. ,, .
Give as the open, frank, full and vivid
ly marked countenance, which bespeaks s
cheerful, jhgenuotisahd manly soul with'
in, that despises' selfishness,- ingratitude
and meanness; a soul that loves it hind,
and. sympathises with its joy and sorrows;
a soul full cf lofty genius, and noble
moral energy, ready fot every good word
and work; in fine, a cheerful and enterpris
ing spirit, solicitous to advance mankind
in all that ennobles human character, and
fits man for peace on earth and joy in heav
en. . we Uketnts ptain Jnde. to tho hu
man soul. :. . i